The End of the Road
by open hearts catch dreams
Summary: "you were right; it is what it is, you- me. What it is, is never over." - Post Series One-shot: Three years since Jess last saw Rory. How much could things have really changed? Not that much, if they still always come back to each other. Lit


**AN: I posted a Lit fic a while back and really wanted to write them more, even before I got some amazing reviews back. Finally, I have been able to apply myself to this world again (between work for my Original Fic, a new one for Sea Patrol - a fandom which really needs more appreciation - and, obviously, university work...I haven't been able to write Jess and Rory for a while).**

**Writing in the present is a new endeavour for me - something I've wanted to try for some time - so I'm hoping it reads okay. It is a little erratic, but that's also due to being sort of told through Jess' thought processes. He's a complicated guy =). Either way, it was a bit of an experiment and I'm not entirely happy with it, but I wanted to just put it up before I strangled myself over it.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

He stands on the sunlit porch, hands buried into his pockets with the unrelenting rain drumming onto the smooth, worn leather over his shoulders. Drops shatter and chase each other as they hit the shingles of the roof and run down, flooding the gutter. The grass is drenched under his boots but shimmers in the hazy sun, and he wonders – really – how long it's been since he last stood at the bottom of her porch, trying to talk himself into walking away.

It doesn't really matter how long, he concedes. It never works. He always has to see her. Always has to hurt himself a little more, because it's the only proof he has that his heart is still in his chest, and not being carried around in her pocket – the kind of burden you're surprised to realise you're still carrying when you empty your pockets looking for car keys or a stick of chewing gum. The same burden you make a mental note to put into a drawer when you get home, but never do.

The house – the Crapshack, he remembers, with a fond smile that he will later deny – has barely changed a bit. The porch is still whitewashed with the swing seat that is now rusty with well-used pillows crushed into the arms. He suspects the front door is no more locked now than it ever used to be, and the thought reminds him of so many past (and lost) opportunities. The windows – many of them – are wide open with clothing of all types (except underwear, because Rory was still a little sane) hung over the sills to air. He is sure there is a very strange and long winded story behind that, and why they aren't using a line.

In fact, Jess thinks, as he lets out a quiet breath, the only thing that seems to have changed – because, really, they might have hung washing out of the windows before – is him.

There is still laughter behind the frosted glass of the front door, as there has always been, and he can attest to the yet unchanged nature of the quirky town just down the street. As a matter of fact, he can be sure the little gnome with the red ceramic hat is glaring at him from next door, remembering his uncouth abduction years before. Jess notices with amusement that Babette has hung a tiny golden bell from his fishing rod line as bait. A part of him – the part that is still rebellious because it's fun – considers thieving the gnome again; just to see if the bell works.

He doesn't.

He looks back at the white house in front of him, wondering what he'll be faced with when the door opens. One thing he does know is that he will have to knock to find out.

With another deep breath, he starts up the steps and the sodden grass squelches as he leaves it behind. He steels himself and knocks twice on the door.

A bark comes from inside, and he vaguely remembers that Lorelai bought a dog. He can't remember ever seeing it.

A laugh follows, that is familiar in a way that makes his heart seize. _She's barely ten feet away from him_.

His heart begins to beat erratically, almost double time. It has been three long years. Her mother and his uncle worked out their differences but had to put off the wedding because Rory had been across the globe. He has heard from Luke – only fragments every few months – what she has been doing. He doesn't know how long she has been back; just that Luke called to say the wedding had a date. Finally.

But as he hears footsteps – and, he thinks, paw treads – approach the other side of the door, his heart seizes again for an entirely different reason.

There is an infantile giggle. A baby.

And then the door opens.

They both get caught up in staring.

Jess doesn't think he's changed much from the last time he saw her – but she has. She is as slender and bright and startling as ever, but she's different. There is maturity in the way she holds herself, and carefree amusement is slowly morphing to something else. Her wavy hair is darker and longer, the fringe half grown out and trailing into her eyes – eyes that are wide with a hint of surprise, warmth and guilt. She's pleased to see him, he knows, but she still feels upset over what happened when they last met.

Jess can only take in so much of her before he has to acknowledge the inevitable. She's stood just the other side of the threshold – so near, yet so far – in a pair of shorts that Daisy Duke would be proud of and a baggy sweater. It has fallen off her shoulder, leaving it bare beneath an errant tendril of hair.

In the same second that he takes all of this in, his gaze can't help but – finally – drift to the infant hoisted into place on her hip. The dog barks again, nosing around Rory's legs, but he whines when he sees the rain. Jess barely notices.

The boy cannot be more than a few months old; he is small and fragile with tightly clenched fists and a childishly purposeful expression that makes the sapphire eyes all the more obvious. He has a fuzzy shock of blonde hair.

Jess isn't sure what to feel, and from inside the house there's a resounding thud.

The boy looks around, startled, and Rory's grip on him changes reflexively so he won't fall. The dog – a Polish Lowland, he knows, from Luke's account – hurries after the noise. Jess feels the rain relent from the pounding at his shoulders, but now it feels worse sliding down the back of his neck.

He doesn't want to stay. He wants to forget he saw Rory with an infant boy with decisive blue eyes. He realises that he's only been staring for a few seconds and sighs, backing away from the door.

"I don't…sorry," he stumbles, wondering at the sensation he's currently being engulfed by. "I came back for the wedding," he manages, somewhat normally. "I'll see you around."

And he turns, hurrying down the steps.

He wants to bleach his brain. He knows it was his fault they fell apart years ago, but he also knows that he didn't deserve what happened when she came to see him in Philadelphia. Just because of their (admittedly…chaotic) history, he shouldn't have to see _her_ with…

The rain has stopped, but his jacket is still soaked, and the grass is still soft as he treads towards the end of the road.

Their garden is a strange shape.

He's _hurt_, Jess realises, having only taken a few steps. But he isn't sure if it's because of what he's just seen or if it's because of what she put him through three years ago.

She'd let him _kiss_ her – given him a heaven that couldn't be improved by death – and then run away. That was the day he was sure his heart had fallen into her pocket. He hadn't felt it since.

"Jess!"

Should he stop? Wait…he already had. Jess groaned internally; he was so close to the road – to freedom. But that wasn't true. When it came to her, he hadn't been free since he was seventeen years old. It was the truth and it really, really sucked.

He must be a masochist. Why else has he stopped?

And then warmth blossoms around him. His nerves go into overdrive, firing sparks up his spine and his breath leaves in a gasp as Rory's arms slip under his. The sleeves of her ragged sweater are curled in her fists as her fingers clutch firmly into the front of his jacket. Her entire body aligns against his from behind and Jess can't remember the last time that he could think of everything and nothing all at once. She's soft and pliant and _real_…and it's torture.

He can't breathe.

He isn't sure he wants to, if it means she'll be gone.

She's resting her head against his shoulder, so he feels the moment that she lifts it, rising on her toes to speak to him.

"You're early."

He doesn't know how to answer. Luckily for him, she's always been able to talk enough for two.

"Mom said you were going to try to be here for tomorrow evening."

"Sorry to ruin the plans," he isn't sure if he wanted that to come out abrasive, but regardless of intent, his tone is soft – for the most part. It is impossible to keep hold of his anger and…_jealousy_…when she is stood with him; clinging to him so tightly.

She chuckles faintly, and her warm breath skitters across his neck, sending chills that are a little to do with the rain on his skin and mostly to do with the fact that it's _her_.

"Mom won't be home for a couple of hours…but Lane will want to say hi – and we're being invaded soon; Mom's dress is being dropped off and Henry needs picking up."

_Picking up_…Jess freezes. He doesn't want to hope, but it's nagging at him anyway. The infant's face crops up in his vision – more real than the water-logged lawn in front of him. The astute gaze… That wasn't Rory's. She looked furious, determined or even intent – especially when it came to books – but he can't remember ever seeing _that _expression on her face.

No. Only one person could pass on that expression – especially before the kid even knew the word 'astute'. Paris Gellar.

And that explained the blonde hair. Paris – not _Logan_.

He lets his breath leave in a rush, and feels like he's deflated to half his size. Rory moves with him, her fingers clenching tighter against his chest as her body presses closer to his back. _Real…_

"Pick up…" he manages to croak. It sounds a little like a question.

He feels Rory nod. "Yeah, I got left with baby-sitting duty." He takes this in without words. Her voice washes over him, soothing the as of yet un-addressed sensations he drowned in when he saw her.

Jess half wants to ask – just to confirm if he's right – but he's too busy dealing with the knowledge that Rory apparently does not have a son, and the sensations that she's causing, pressed as close as she is. Sensations he wants to succumb to…and for that matter…

"Are you afraid I'm going to run away?" He's pleased when his voice comes out level, sounding slightly amused. Almost normal.

He _feels_ her breath leave her in a gasp, and has barely a second to act as her fingers release his jacket. He pulls his hands from his pockets and covers hers, firmly holding on.

He knows that they have to move – soon – and he's dragging out this memory as long as he can.

Because he's a masochist.

"Jess?" she whispers, voice quavering. She rests her head against his shoulder again.

He thinks he knows where she's going, and he isn't really sure he wants to follow her – but when has he ever been able to say no?

"Rory?" her name slips off his tongue like a prayer. He hasn't said her name in three years. Matt, Chris and Mike at Truncheon know not to say it either.

"I'm so sorry," she breathes.

Her hair tickles the back of his neck, and he feels a breeze ripple across the lawn. He remembers she followed him in clothing hardly appropriate for the weather. He lets go of her hands, and turns around as her arms fall.

She looks smaller and her eyes are sad, cast down. She is standing barefoot on the soaked grass and he worries that she'll get sick.

He wants to pick her up, but he knows he isn't allowed.

"How's Logan?" he forces the jerk's name out, trying not to bite his tongue over it. No matter how many times he warns himself, he is still gets too close. _Every time_.

Her arms fold over her stomach, lost in the many folds of chocolate fabric and she shrugs faintly. The small motion is enough to draw his attention to the fallen neckline of her sweater. He swallows hard.

"I wouldn't know," she says, finally.

He raises an eyebrow. "Thought you loved him," he says, as lightly as he can manage. _Is he gone?_

Rory bites down on her lip, looking at anything but him before she finally takes a deep breath. When she looks at him, there are no walls. He can see anger, worry and pain flashing through her eyes. The cerulean is turbulent and fiery, but sad and lost. She's never let him see this kind of pain.

And it's for_ him._ Jess wants to punch something.

"I did, once," she concedes. Jess notices she is not teary or…upset… "I lied to you, Jess." Her voice is soft, carried to him and away on the same breeze. "When I told you that- that I did…"

"Why would you lie to me?" Jess asks. He isn't sure if he's relieved or angry. Should he have pushed harder that night? Did she know she lied then, or did she think she was telling the truth?

"I didn't know," she admits. "I didn't want to hurt you, but you were right; it is what it is, you- me. What it is, is _never over_."

He holds his breath. She's close enough to touch – and he really wants to – but he's starting to wonder if it really is possible to break apart any more than he has already. He doesn't want to take anything she isn't willing to give and _let him keep_. And yet…he wants anything she'll give or take. He can't help it.

"I was scared," she continues.

"Of what?" Jess asks quietly. He loses half the battle and takes a step closer. She shakes her head. "You were never meant to know…it's not fair; life's moved on and I shouldn't drag you back into the past. I…I want you to be happy."

Jess quickly racks his brain. She's keeping something from him, worrying it will upset him. "I want to know, Rory. What were you so afraid of that you had to run straight back to a guy who cheated on you?"

She flinches. He doesn't take it back and after a moment, she fixes him with a frank gaze.

Now she is not drowning in anger and worry. Now she is calm. A flash of sadness is all he can find.

"I was scared of what I could see every time I looked at you – even when I was seventeen." Jess is shocked, and he feels his eyes widen as he looks at her. Wisely, he chooses to keep silent. Rory takes a deep breath but, now she has started, she ploughs on. "I planned everything after high school – Harvard, being a journalist, movie nights with my Mom, being at Lane's wedding, turning twenty one. The only part of my life I didn't plan ahead for was you. I didn't know it then, I figured it just wasn't as important as school. But I knew it when I went to see you at the Open House. I knew that if I- if we…_you're it, Jess_."

Jess can't breathe. Again. The frustration that has been mounting in her voice has reached a crescendo and there is none left. She shakes, re-folds the arms that have been gesticulating wildly. He feels shaken to the foundation of his being – like his soul is being torn from his body.

It's not natural.

It's cataclysmic.

It's _them_. It's always been them.

"You're it for me," Rory continues, and her voice is as shaky as he feels. Still she hasn't cried. "I couldn't plan ahead because I couldn't account for _you_ – I didn't even realise, but for a long time I've known if it was ever going to be anyone…You're the end of the road. I know it, and I've tried to keep away from it, but…" she swallows and nods once. Jess realises he's moved closer again, silent for fear she'll realise what she's admitting. When she looks up at him, though, her eyes widen and she stumbles back.

The grass whispers around her bare skin and Jess watches her steel herself. His heart is pounding harder than it has…_ever_.

"I told you because you wanted to know," she says, clearly. "That, and I kind of owed you some answers. But that's it. I've hurt you enough – and you will never know how sorry I am for that – so don't worry. We can be civil, or just not talk at all, for the wedding and after that…you can forget about this."

Jess freezes in surprise again, this time it's because he's incredulous. _She thinks I've moved on_.

He doesn't know whether to laugh, cry, or shake some sense into her. Kissing her is more appealing. Instead, he shakes his head, trying to keep calm. _It's always been her_. And now the most pressing thing; how does he tell her that without sounding like a sap?

"Rory…"

She bites down on her lip again. She's nervous, now that she's let open the floodgates on her doings in their turbulent past. The signs (that he still recognises with ease) of her nerves reassure him.

He's not the only one.

"Do you remember the night I came to your dorm?" Jess asks. There is no darkness in his tone – in fact, he is almost amused – he has long been over this; he knows he was at fault for that. Rory nods slowly, eyes confused. "I've grown up since then but, apart from the bit about 'not here'… what I said that night hasn't changed."

Rory's gaze snaps to his and she looks stunned, terrified and hopeful, all at once. Jess is careful as he moves towards her again. Her breathing is shallow and ragged.

"I've been waiting for you to catch up."

She stares at him and as she does, he feels a raindrop hit the back of his neck. He shudders, and the strange vortex they've been standing in since she raced after him is blown apart like shrapnel and they are left standing on a wild lawn as another rain shower starts.

Rory laughs at his reaction, though she quickly attempts to stifle it when he looks at her. Her shoulders hunch more as more drops descend on them.

"You should go in," Jess says gently. He can't help his eyes drifting down the length of her legs. "You've probably got a cold."

"You should, too," she says, lightly enough – leaving an option – but he knows he isn't leaving. "You're soaked through."

He nods and waits for her to turn around and head for the porch steps. He climbs them after her, eyes drawn to the baby boy, sitting in the hallway next to the shaggy dog that seemed to dislike rain. He wonders, now, how he could think he was Rory's. The blue of their eyes is so different.

Rory pauses in the doorway just in front of him and in the next second she has turned around and thrown her arms around his neck. Jess marvels that he can reciprocate so quickly; his own arms band tightly around her, fingers splaying between her shoulder blades and curling around her waist.

She is warm and soft and home. He doesn't really know what home is supposed to mean, just that she is his.

"I'm sorry, Jess." She murmurs into his skin. He shakes his head, holding her tighter.

It doesn't matter now that they're here. Now that he's allowed to hold her again.

When they separate Rory links her fingers through his and tugs him into the house. Lane looks entirely too suspicious, seated on the sofa without her glasses and a magazine upside down. She smiles brightly – knowingly – and offers a sincere 'welcome home'. He thinks to ask how she and the twins are doing and while Lane fills him in, in typical Stars Hollow rambling, Rory sets the blonde boy into a playpen.

Jess turns to her. "Paris?" he asks.

Surprise crosses her features, but it is quickly replaced with a smile. She nods. "Henry. She freaked out but Doyle dealt pretty well. He was six months old last week. She's stopping by to fetch him in an hour or so."

"And the dog…?" he asks hesitantly. He knows they have had him a while.

Rory laughs, "Paul Anka. Mom bought him when she was lonely because I decided to live with Adolf."

He smiles at that and perches on the arm of the couch that hasn't moved.

Over the next few hours, he remembers how it feels to be a part of a Gilmore Girl's life. Everything is manic and zany and gibberish, but he doesn't want to be anywhere else.

Lorelai's dress arrives, and Lane hides it where Luke won't look while Rory convinces Henry to Leave Paul Anka's tail alone and watch cartoons. Paris and Doyle stop in – which is enough of an event in itself when Paris spots him without adding Paris' news – Lorelai is on her way home.

Jess amuses himself by watching Rory and Lane race around, hiding the wedding gifts and preparations as Paris removes Henry from the flurry of madness. No sooner are they gone and Lorelai is at the door, dragging with her a huge wooden crate that he is sure there is a lengthy and off the wall story behind. He is right.

Albert the Ice cream maker soon has a home in the kitchen.

Luke is surprised but pleased to see him when he stops in later. Rory has been curled up against his side on the couch for the last two hours, channel surfing and ticking things off on an impressive to-do list. She squeezes his hand, then smiles at Luke as she excuses herself. In the next moment she and Paul Anka are leaving.

Jess looks up at his uncle. He is expecting the 'stay away from her' speech, or the 'I hope you know what you're doing' lecture, or even the 'She's like my daughter and if you hurt her again…' threat. None are forthcoming.

Luke is smiling. He nods, says he has to finish up at the diner. "It's good to see you," he says, sincere and awkward. "I'm…glad…you worked it out."

Jess is too. He nods, understanding.

Luke leaves so that he can be assured his diner is still standing and Jess reclines into the back of the couch.

He had gone to the small white home – not house, because it truly is a _home_ – earlier that day wanting to see her again. The most he'd let himself hope for was a peaceable conversation, acknowledging that they would at least have to be civil for the next week.

As it turns out, the outcome is rather better than expected. Rory joins him on the couch again, this time with Lorelai's wedding planner, and Jess can't help but smile – really smile – as he finally allows himself to think of their future.

He doesn't realise that he falls asleep, and he doesn't realise when Rory covers them both in a blanket, or when Lorelai takes a picture of them both in the early hours of the next morning (a picture that will be surely used for blackmail at some point).

All Jess knows as he sleeps on the couch is a small house with a hedge around the garden (because, really, picket is hardly kid-safe) where two children play on a see saw.

**

* * *

AN: So, as mentioned, this was sort of a first.**

**Some Trivia: I wrote this working off of three ideas that I wanted to write (not necessarily together) and they were: Jess seeing Rory with a baby, the 'backwards' hug and Rory telling Jess flat out that he "was it. The end of the road". Lucky for me, I managed to get them to fit together - your opinions may vary on how well. =)**

**Last Point: I was very deliberately vague about Jess' idea of his and Rory's future. There are two kids in his imagination, but I didn't embelish because this fic was about what happened in the 'here and now'. Their future wasn't so relevant - just the fact that they have one. Enough people have written the painstaking process of recovery and re-commitment at Luke and Lorelai's wedding, and even of their futures with children (Nothing against them, some of these stories are incredible!). I kinda wanted to do something on the other end of the scale where they can put everything behind them because at the end of the day, they come back to each other.**


End file.
